RaBB verse: Brother's Only Choice
by authoressnebula
Summary: Sequel of sorts to Losing Winner. Dean's in the hospital and bored. Sam's trying to save them both from Dean's boredom, but winds up needing a little rescuing from his own thoughts. Dean's 20, Sam's 16. AKA, why does Dean always pick scissors?


There was never a lot to do in a hospital room. Sam had found that out the hard way before, but had always managed to content himself somehow. Either watching the machines and, judging by his own body, what everything did, or guessing the time without looking at the clock, just the sun, he'd always managed to keep himself busy.

Dean, on the other hand...

"I'm bored."

Sam gritted his teeth and turned to his brother. "You'd think for someone that's twenty that you'd do a lot less whining."

"Yeah, well, you'd think someone who was a sixteen year old _guy_ would not only bitch less, but get laid more." Dean's eyebrows waggled. "You're missing golden years here, Sammy."

"Yeah, right," Sam said, leaning back with a sigh into the chair beside Dean's bed.

"Seriously, wasn't there a girl you liked, up at the school?" Dean's voice was honestly serious now, patient with Sam in ways he never would be with the hospital or himself. "You should go see her, ask her out. And don't give me that speech about needing money, because I already told you, I've got some, and I can always get more."

No, cash wasn't the problem, but telling Dean that was just going to spark off another conversation he didn't really want to have at that point. Especially if their dad came back and joined in, and then the conversation would slide right into an argument, and that was the last thing Dean needed right then.

From the look on Dean's face, though, Sam's silence was more than telling. Dean sighed and shifted. "Sam, I know it's tough-"

"She's seeing someone else," Sam lied, then looked sheepish. "I didn't really know that until a few days ago."

Dean's eyebrows instantly raised in interest and, of course, amusement. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy...goin' after the forbidden prize."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

Any other day, Sam would've just rolled his eyes. After last night, though...

He swallowed and looked away at the floor. It didn't feel like it'd just been yesterday; it felt like it had been weeks ago. Weeks and weeks since he'd seen Dean go down under the claws of something that most certainly was _not_ supernatural. They'd screwed up badly, had misjudged the hunt from the get go, and Dean had paid the price.

For the first time in weeks, Dad and Sam had worked together and agreed upon everything: getting Dean to the hospital. Dean in turn hadn't spoken a word, but his eyes had shown the first traces of fear Sam had ever really seen there. And fear wasn't a good look on his big brother. They'd tried to stop the blood flow, but by the time they were at the hospital, all of their makeshift bandages had been saturated, and Dean had fallen too silent.

Something hit the side of his head, and Sam jerked in time to see a wadded up piece of paper fall to the ground. He moved his gaze to Dean and glared. "I'm _bored_," Dean reminded him, then sighed and laid back in his bed. "And you're thinking, which is not keeping me entertained."

Right. That was his brother's only concern. Sam felt his heart constrict for the stubborn, lovable idiot in the bed, then shifted his chair so he was closer. "Okay, fine: I can go get you a magazine."

"Hustler," Dean said instantly, and Sam's cheeks immediately felt warmer.

"_No_."

"You have a fake ID, Sam."

"_No_, Dean. Forget it."

Dean sighed. "Then what were you planning on getting me?"

"An automotive magazine," Sam said, raising his eyebrow.

"If you're gonna get anything, get National Geographic," Dean said. When Sam frowned in confusion, Dean just grinned. "Different research, but I bet we could ID the thing from last night in there."

Sam's gut twisted, and he let it show on his face. "I'm not getting that for you. That's not even funny, Dean."

"Lighten up, Sam; it was just a joke."

"No, it _wasn't_," Sam said fiercely, and he _hated_ being sixteen: sixteen meant more emotional everything, including tears in his eyes he couldn't stop. "You almost died, Dean. I almost lost my brother."

With a sigh Dean caught his sleeve and tugged him closer in. From his new vantage point, Sam could see the neat row of stitches running down Dean's cheek to his throat, and he closed his eyes. "Sammy, I'm _fine_," Dean said, softer than he had in ages. "Okay? I lived, I'll fight another day. You and Dad thought fast, kept me going until the hospital took over. That's a big ass thing, dude. You did the right thing. We're okay, okay?"

Except they weren't, hadn't been for a few months now. He was so close to finishing high school, and he just wanted to stay in one town for more than a month at a time. He wanted a room of his own that was all his to paint and decorate with posters, he wanted a real working kitchen to make lunch for everyone in, hell, he wanted a damn _dog_, just because he could have one.

And he wanted to go on to college. Wanted Dean to go on to college, but Dean wasn't doing anything except hunting. Hunting and getting killed, and Sam was so _through_ with it, he realized suddenly. Through with it all. He didn't want to keep doing this forever. He couldn't keep watching Dean almost die.

He had to get out of hunting. Maybe if he found a college that didn't cost too much, was near someplace cool for Dean and near smaller towns that were bound to have hunting jobs for Dad, maybe...maybe they'd be okay with settling down for a few years. Nothing permanent, but maybe their dad would see that hunting was stupid and reckless and not worth missing out on life for.

He had a few years: he could make it work. It was for that reason that Sam smiled at his brother and nodded. "We're okay," he said, sounding more confident than he had in ages.

Dean looked surprised but happy, chucking Sam under the chin. "That's my boy," he said softly, before his voice got louder with a smirk. "Now go get me Hustler, bitch."

Sam snorted and leaned back in his chair. "No way. I'm not committing a crime for you, especially not one that lame."

"Oh come on, dude: HUSTLER."

"Your wrist is broken, Dean," Sam pointed out with a smirk.

Dean's returning smirk was much more lecherous. "Ever heard of the term 'ambidextrous'?"

Sam's smirk rapidly disappeared. "Dude, that's _gross_."

Dean snickered, then winced as the movement disturbed the bandages on his chest. "Take it _easy_, Dean, god," Sam said as he sat up and pressed his hands gently to Dean's shoulder. Dean tossed him a halfhearted glare but settled back onto the bed. A few more days, and he'd be able to get out. Sam could have school for those few days.

He wasn't leaving Dean's bedside, though, and he was pretty sure that Dean knew that. They were leaving after Dean healed up, anyways: there wasn't a point to going back to the school anymore.

"If I win, you get me Hustler. If _you_ win, you can get me whatever the hell you were going to get me."

Sam glanced over at Dean with a puzzled frown, one that disappeared when he saw Dean's left fist hovering over his right, immobilized hand. "You can't be serious," Sam said, raising an eyebrow. "Rock, paper, scissors?"

"We're settling this the old fashioned way. C'mon bitch, move it," Dean commanded, and with a long suffering sigh Sam sat forward and put his fist out. "One, two, three," Dean counted, and both laid out their choices. Sam's was paper, and Dean gleefully used his scissors to chomp through Sam's hand.

Sam rolled his eyes but gave a small grin. Big brothers just didn't change. "Best two out of three?"

"If you can stand to have your ass kicked two more times, sure," Dean said nonchalantly, and counted off again. This time, Sam's rock crushed Dean's scissors, causing Sam to give his brother a look. "What?"

"You always pick scissors," Sam said. "Why?"

"You know, we used to play this all the time when we were little," Dean said, grinning. "You _always_ picked rock, dude, so I wouldn't talk about a lack of diversity here."

Which meant that Dean would always pick scissors. Sam didn't know how it was possible to love the jerk so much, but moments like these definitely reminded him that he did. "Rock's better than scissors," Sam said, sounding like a petulant child.

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is _not_."

"Is _too_."

"Rocks are for cavemen, Sammy," Dean said suddenly, and Sam blinked.

"Excuse me?"

Dean grinned, obviously warming to the topic. "Yeah. Rocks are for cavemen who are lame, can't use a real man's weapon, and can be taken down in sparring every single time."

Sam huffed his annoyance. "You know, I do beat you sometimes."

"Yeah, on luck."

"What about paper?" Sam asked, moving his brother off the topic of sparring.

Dean snorted. "_Please_. Give me a break, Sam." He held out his left hand and lifted his voice. "I'm a paper, and I can _cover_ rock! Look at how mighty and fierce I am!"

Sam bit down on his lip to keep his chuckles inside. When Dean pointed it out that way, it _did_ seem kind of lame. "And scissors, I suppose, are the best choice?"

"Well, duh," Dean said, as if that'd been the obvious answer all along. "Scissors are multi-tasking objects. They can cut through a lot of stuff, but in the same instant, they can be sharp and cut someone or stab them. They're really pointy at the end."

A multi-tasking weapon: Dean's ultimate dream. "Now one more, and this one's for the magazine," Dean said, putting his fist out again. Sam paused a moment, then made up his mind and laid out his choice after the countdown.

Dean tsked as his fingers pretended to cut straight through his paper. "You just don't learn, Sammy. Hustler, on the double."

Sam sighed and rose, stretching out the kinks in his back before heading for the door. "I wanna see good looking girls on that magazine!" Dean hollered after him.

The convenience store across the street was bound to have it...along with several other magazines. Sam had enough money on him for more than one, and grinned suddenly to himself. If Dean wanted to see good looking girls, then he'd get him the Hustler but throw a different magazine on top. Like, say, one of those girly magazines. Cosmopolitan, or something else with those stupid quizzes in there. Something that was pink. Maybe one of those teenage ones that talked about the boy bands. His grin growing by the minute, Sam made his way to the stairs.

* * *

Dean watched him go, his smirk fading once Sam was out of sight. He sighed softly and glanced down at his wrist. He'd managed to make the kid grin and laugh: that was all he could've asked for. Considering how independent the kid was getting, how he kept pressing for 'normal' and a place that wasn't a hotel to live in, he was moody and frustrating to deal with most of the time. A smile and a grin was a pretty damn cool thing.

And if Sam wanted to play little brother and let Dean win, if it made him feel better, then Dean would choose scissors forever. Kid needed to lighten up.

He also needed to stop being so against hunting. It had been his skills and his knowledge last night that had saved Dean's life.

And it had been Dean's know-how and experience that had pushed Sam out of danger's way.

Maybe if Dean could convince Dad to settle down for a month or so around a place that was bound to have smaller, outlying towns with jobs. Or somewhere close to Bobby, Caleb, or Pastor Jim. Sam would refuse to be left behind, but he didn't want to leave, either. Maybe for a month or so, so Sam could get in some serious schooling, find a girl and ask her out...normal things. If he could have little pockets of 'normal', then maybe he'd be better with the hunting.

He knew there wasn't a chance in hell that he could get Sam to ask his girl friend out here: she wasn't taken, and Dean knew it. Sam was just refusing to leave Dean in the hospital by himself. He had to drum it out of the kid's head that he hadn't been responsible for last night. It had been Dean's decision, and one he wouldn't take back. He'd survived the attack. He didn't think Sam would've.

He settled down in his pillows, closing his eyes and letting himself have a small nap before Sam came back. Maybe he'd actually manage to get the kid to get him some real food; the stuff in this place was crap. Get some food for Sam, too: if he kept shooting up like he was, he'd be taller than Dean, and even now, the kid was a little beyond eye to eye. As much as Dean wasn't totally cool with the idea of Sam being _taller_ than he was, he was very cool with Sam getting enough to eat so he could do whatever growth spurt his body insisted on.

Sam had to learn, one of these days, that it was Dean's job to look after him, Dean's right as older brother to take care of him. He'd do it up to the day he died, and then, knowing Sam, probably after that, too.

Still, if the kid wanted to play big brother for a little bit, take care of Dean and let him win his choice of magazine...Dean was cool with it.

Until the pink teen magazine with fifteen year old girls cooing over boy bands was placed in his lap.

END


End file.
